


The Denny's Cycle 1: Miles to Go Before I Sleep

by Mallory Klohn (malloryklohn)



Series: The Denny's Cycle [1]
Category: X Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-02
Updated: 2009-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malloryklohn/pseuds/Mallory%20Klohn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nowadays, insomnia leads to forming Fight Club or becoming a serial killer in Alaska.  But back in my day, it meant that hott Guyz met up coincidentally at 24-hour chain restaurants and got to teh sexin'.  Things really were better in the good old days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Denny's Cycle 1: Miles to Go Before I Sleep

** Denny's Cycle I: **   
**Miles To Go Before I Sleep**

by Ethan Nelson

  


Assistant Director Walter Skinner entered the Denny's restaurant at  
a little after one in the morning, expecting nothing more than to enjoy  
a substandard slice of apple pie and some greasy coffee before he finally  
called it a night. Though ordinarily a healthy sleeper, he found that every  
now and again he could get to sleep only with the aid of an act of God.  
Those were rare enough in his life that he had been forced to search out  
some other alternatives. Denny's was hardly a favorite haunt of his-- his  
tastes in cuisine ran more towards the sort of menu items that didn't rhyme--  
but he was restless and it was still open, which was more than he could  
say for the few restaurants he did frequent.

This night the source of his consternation was the same as it was more  
often than not. Once again Agent Mulder had managed to saddle him with  
a headache that could only be obliterated with the aid of several sticks  
of dynamite. Walter was seldom so extreme. What with Mulder's usual crap,  
budget requests, completely ridiculous 302's, and various other assorted  
aggravations, he had been unable to close his eyes without envisioning  
himself in a McDonald's hat, and happy to be that way.

"Table for one, sir?" The hostess asked him. Her look said it all: he  
was clearly a weirdo, but she had seen far worse.

"Yes, thank-you."

"Smoking or non?"

"Non."

"Right this way."

The restaurant was deserted but for one lone man, bent over a laptop  
computer on the other side of the non-smoking section. Whether out of charity  
or indifference, the hostess seated Walter in a large corner booth, facing  
the parking lot. From here he could see his car, the convenience store  
across the street, and a couple of working girls having a bad night.

Still, it had to be more scintillating a view than endless Flow-bee  
infomericals. As if an even haircut was a major concern of his.

He scanned the menu with a jaundiced eye, halfway interested in ordering  
a very late breakfast. He had eaten a lot of meals like that in his youth.  
The dry toast and strangely green sausages were a memory that had put him  
on an All Bran breakfast diet for years afterward. Even the swarthiest  
of men could withstand only so much. He turned to the back of the menu  
and examined his dessert choices. The apple pie was out of stock.

He could have a sundae, maybe...

"I think I saw this once on Unsolved Mysteries,'" the man at the other  
end of the section was telling the waitress.

"Did you?"

"Yeah yeah yeah. I know I did. This guy got his hands on a bad piece  
of pie, and he asked for another, but they kept giving it to him from the  
same plate, see, and of course the other pieces were just as bad. He finally  
asked for the manager."

"And nobody ever saw him again?"

"Ah, you saw that one too."

"So the pie's out. How about the fruit plate?"

"I could tell you stories about the fruit plate," he was telling her.

Walter looked up. Something in the tone was familiar. Something that,  
for some reason, filled him with dread.

He had not been able to identify the other man on the basis of the top  
of his head alone, and he had not really tried, anyway. Now he saw very  
clearly who it was. Fox Mulder: thorn in his side, pain in his ass, and  
bane of his existence. If he tried to leave now, Mulder would see him straight  
away. Maybe if he sneaked out the emergency exit. This wasn't the only  
Denny's in Virginia, after all. This is ridiculous, he told himself.

_Are you a G Man, or a mouse?_ With a groan of resignation, he  
got up from his table and crossed the restaurant to Mulder's. Mulder was  
wearing his glasses, lending to his expression of surprise.

"Good morning, sir. I didn't see you come in."

"It's supposed to be the innocent who sleep so well..."

"And I never see any sons of bitches when I'm out at night. You have  
a table?"

"Over there," he said, gesturing vaguely.

"No sense taking up two. There might be a crush."

Walter sat across from him, half-relieved and not willing to acknowledge  
why. "Elvis," he said.

"He's a big eater. Bigfoot, too."

"Probably not." Mulder gave him a questioning look. "No salad bar,"  
he said.

"Who says we don't see eye to eye?" He tapped around a bit on his laptop.

"If I'm intruding..."

"It's okay. Personal project." He closed the lid and set the computer  
beside him. "I'm not going to try to ding you for overtime."

"Or for the meal, I presume."

"No. We'll go dutch." He removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of  
his nose. Without the frames to protect him, he looked weary.

"How long have you been here?"

He looked at his watch. "Since nine or so. I didn't come for the food,"  
he assured his boss. "I just needed a change of scenery. What about you?  
Waiting for your roach killer to air out?"

"No. I couldn't sleep."

"And they replaced _Beverly Hills 90210_ with one of those goddamned  
Tony Robbins things."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Are you a fan, Agent Mulder?"

"Not anymore. It isn't the same without Brenda."

The waitress returned just then. She did a classic double-take. "You  
two know each other?"

"This is my boss," Mulder said. Her expression told Walter everything  
he needed to know. He wondered what Mulder had called him this time.

"What can I get for you, Mr. Skinner?"

He looked at Mulder. "What do you recommend?"

Mulder's eyes gleamed as he shot the waitress a look. "Everything they  
have here is good. Just make sure you ask for the Pepto-Bismol and the  
stomach pump on the side."

"Keep that up and I'm going to ask you to leave," she said. "I know  
what kind of tipper you are."

Did Mulder flirt with every able-bodied woman in the Western Hemisphere?  
The AD cleared his throat as conspicuously as possible. "I'll have a bowl  
of vanilla ice cream. No topping. And a glass of... iced tea."

Mulder looked amused, but, for once, kept his mouth shut. "Another round  
of coffee for me. How's the _pumpkin_ pie?"

"That'll be a fruit plate, then."

"I'll defer to your wisdom." The waitress gave him a saucy grin and  
was gone. "You don't know how happy I am that you're here, sir."

"Oh?"

"She gets off in another hour. I think she was planning to hit me up  
for a ride home."

"Not in your neighborhood?"

"Not in my generation. You say Kennedy to her and she thinks you're  
talking about that weird chick from MTV."

"You're a fine one to be talking about weird, Mulder."

"I'm always being persecuted," he said. He drank the last of his coffee,  
grimacing. "I think this qualifies as alchemy."

"Don't even think about it."

"Still, you have to wonder..."

"Mulder."

"It started out as coffee grounds and water," he said, fighting a smile.  
"How did it wind up as road tar?"

"Christ. I knew it."

"Must have. _You_ ordered the iced tea."

Walter looked at him. What was going on here? Mulder didn't appear to  
be drunk. Or stoned, not that he had ever suspected the agent of rampant  
drug use. The man was strange enough completely straight. Granted, the  
two of them weren't always locked in battle, but since when had they shared  
even an uneasy camaraderie? He found himself giving Mulder's mug a second  
look. He lifted it and peered inside.

"Agent Mulder, are you sure it started out as coffee and water?"

"The only certainty in life is uncertainty, sir."

He raised a brow. "I can have the health department on this place by  
dawn."

"Let the obscure be explained by the more obscure, the unknown by the  
more unknown."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a Clive Barker fan."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for one, either."

The waitress returned with their snacks. She looked a little disappointed,  
to Walter's mind, that he hadn't yet left Mulder to her mercies. He could  
hardly do so now. Mulder was under the influence of _something_, whether  
it was a change in the weather, the so-called coffee, or the cheesy honky-tonk  
music that blared from the restaurant stereo. It would be nothing less  
than irresponsible to leave the man alone. There was no telling what a  
man like him could get himself into given the right mood and the wrong  
woman. It sounded like some kind of pastiche Chandler line, but what the  
hell. It was late. He was restless. And his iced tea was more ice than  
tea. He winced a little.

"I see you've uncovered one of the greatest conspiracies in American  
history."

"That being... what?"

"That Denny's, if it is indeed a family restaurant, is a dysfunctional  
one."

"I'm going back to my table now." He made as if to rise.

Mulder grabbed his arm. "Hang on a second. Hear me out." He was giving  
Walter that intense look he had. Something in his eyes made it impossible  
to look away. Walter sighed inwardly. He really needed some sleep.

"What?"

"Doesn't it puzzle you why a family restaurant would be open twenty-four  
hours, otherwise? Christmas, Easter, Hanukkah..."

"No good, Mulder. I'm still not sending you on a Denny's hunt."

"The bureau would save a lot of money on meals, sir."

"Especially after you and Scully die of food poisoning."

The conversation continued for better than an hour in this fashion,  
Mulder stringing together one wild theory after another, over and over,  
letting Skinner play straight man to his dementia. It was a playful version  
of the same exchanges they shouted over in Skinner's office, day after  
day. Walter began to relax, slowly, sucked in by Mulder's baiting, his  
warmth, his... flirting? He sat up abruptly, alarmed at the idea. Was Mulder  
flirting? Was Walter _really_ alarmed at the idea? Oh, Jesus... He  
wasn't.

Not at all. He felt rather pleased by it, actually. Of course, Mulder  
flirted with everyone, that much had been clear to him from the beginning.

He was a very focused man. And when that focus shifted to a specific  
person rather than one of his endless quests, he showed no mercy.

"So, why couldn't you sleep?" Mulder asked him.

"Too much on my mind." And now he had one more thing to think about.

Bastard.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." Mulder didn't look too insulted. He decided to let  
it go at that.

Mulder didn't. "I was sorry to hear about your divorce."

"It was a long time coming."

"Mrs. Skinner said something to that effect."

He frowned. "She talked to you?"

"Yeah. During that whole mess with the... uh..."

"The hooker. You can say it." He sipped his iced tea to give himself  
something else to look at. Mulder had left his glasses off, and his eyes  
were becoming magnetic. Walter wondered if it was natural or some kind  
of special effect. He wondered if there was something to Mulder's ideas  
about the toxic factor of Denny's beverages. "What did Sharon tell you?"

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "She said you'd become roommates  
more than spouses. That you felt silence equaled strength. You wouldn't  
open up to her."

Walter rubbed his forehead. How the hell had they gotten onto this topic,  
anyway? "Some things, I couldn't talk to her about."

"She was your wife," Mulder said, gently.

"All the more reason not to tell her." He shot Mulder a look as if to  
add "and I'm not going to tell _you_, either."

"Fair enough."

Walter smirked. "You aren't going to ask me what it was?"

"Nope. If you can't tell somebody you lived with for seventeen years,  
you _ain't_ tellin' _me_. Believe it or not, sir, I know when  
I'm beat."

"I had developed an attraction to someone else," he said, before he  
could stop himself.

He held up a hand. "You don't have to tell me. I'm just the guy with  
the rancid fruit plate."

He gave Mulder a defiant look. "The someone else was another man."

Mulder's mouth opened, then closed. "Nothing wrong with that."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "The man was a subordinate." His eyes  
didn't leave Mulder's for a second.

"Let's not get too specific, now," he squeaked. Suddenly the same fruit  
plate he'd maligned seemed the most important thing in his world.

Walter spooned some ice cream into his mouth. So Mulder hadn't been  
flirting. This should make for an interesting office dynamic, he thought.

Assuming Mulder didn't report him. Assuming the ice cream wasn't laced  
with strychnine or something equally nasty. How in the name of Christ had  
they managed to taint the _ice cream_? He ate some more, half-hoping  
it would taste better with time, half-hoping it was poisoned. What a repugnant  
situation. When he managed to look up again, he found Mulder pinning him  
with another of his looks.

"What?"

He paused. Seemed to be speculating. "What if I told you I'm bisexual,  
too?"

"What if you did?"

Mulder raked his hands through his hair. "What if I told you your _attraction_  
was returned?"

Walter sat back in his chair and fixed the agent with his favorite stare.  
Mulder squirmed. He could almost see the wheels turning. He had never said  
it was Mulder he was attracted to. He had dozens of agents under his command.  
What an ego! It irked him that Mulder was right. Excited him that he was  
interested. Scared the hell out of him, too. If they took this beyond what  
it was, a late-night conversation over poisoned desserts, they were risking  
so much. Walter's work situation was always as tenuous as it was steady,  
and Mulder... he couldn't afford to dig himself a deeper hole.

Walter thought hard.

"You want to get out of here?"  
   
   


*** *** ***

  


"Nice pad, Walter." Mulder craned his neck to have a good look around  
without actually snooping. "I never really had a chance to take a look  
the last time I was here."

"What with one thing and another..." Walter murmured.

"The hour, ratboy, you topless..."

Walter sighed. "Do you want a drink, Mulder?"

"What have you got?"

"Wine, beer, coffee, apple juice, and I think--" he bent to look in  
the refrigerator. "Uh-huh. Sunny Delight."

"_You_ have Sunny Delight? This is a revelation."

"It's not mine."

"I get that all the time. I'll go with the apple juice, I think."

Walter stood. "If you have a story about Sunny Delight, I don't want  
to hear it."

He smiled. "It's a good one."

"I don't care. If I ask, it's going to be some weird cult that embalms  
their dead in it, or an exsanguinated corpse that was full of it, or some  
other sick bullshit that you probably make up as you go along."

"Only outside of work, Walter. My usual sick bullshit is absolutely  
true."

He handed Mulder his glass. "You want the tour?"

Walter didn't know what to do about the tension that had crept into  
him on the drive home. Mulder had taken his own car, but he'd felt his  
presence, all the same. This was out of control, already. He had pushed  
all impure thoughts of the man out of his head months before, and had never  
given it another moment until tonight. One look in Mulder's eyes and he  
was trapped. He had gone from a solitary meal to this, in no time at all.  
And Mulder was playing Don Juan Triumphant to the hilt. If he had been  
flirting quietly before, he was shameless now, encouraged presumably by  
the certainty that Walter would not harm him for it. But it had been a  
very long time since Walter had been involved with another man. In his  
heart he knew things could not have changed all that much, but his nervousness  
stayed with him.

He led Mulder through the kitchen, the two bathrooms, the living room  
and the study, showed him all the appropriate knick knacks and made all  
the appropriate comments. It wasn't until they reached the bedroom that  
Mulder showed any real interest. Walter understood completely. It was strange  
to be pointing out the view or explaining a painting when they had such  
a specific purpose in coming to his home.

Mulder peered inside, but did not enter the room. "I don't see any shackles."

"Disappointed, Mulder?"

He smiled, lazily. "I've always gone for silk scarves in situations  
like that. Less chafing," he said.

"I keep all my b&amp;d stuff under the bed," Walter said, all innocence.

"Your uh... what?"

He crossed the room and knelt by the bed, making a show of poking around  
underneath. "You know. Ball gags, ball harness, butt plugs... Sharon got  
all the best stuff in the divorce settlement."

Mulder choked on his apple juice. "I think it's time for our first 'relationship'  
discussion."

Walter frowned. "No good?"

"No." He gave Walter an uneasy smile. Trying to be diplomatic. "Let  
me-- uh-- let's see what you have under there." He crouched down on the  
floor and peered under Walter's bed. "You bastard."

Walter began to laugh. "The look on your face--"

"Cut it out." He couldn't. He just laughed harder. Mulder stretched  
his arm under the bed and came back with the only thing there: The Gipsy  
Kings' Greatest Hits on cassette. "You got a thing for _Volare_, Walter?"

"That song will wreck you," he said.

"Depends on your definition of the word."

Mulder was inches away from him. Every sense was completely focused  
on him. Walter was drowning in him. He leaned closer, and closer still,  
his eyes never leaving the younger man's. His breathing was shallow. Everything  
he wanted, everything he was, all of it narrowed down to nothing more complicated  
than the possession of that mouth.

"Last chance," he said, in a voice he barely recognized.

Mulder cupped his face in both hands and pulled him in, welding his  
mouth to Walter's with a need nothing in his manner had betrayed. He opened  
his mouth on a moan and Walter thrust his tongue inside. He buried his  
hands in Mulder's hair and gave himself up to sensation. Mulder's own hands  
were hard at work divesting the AD of his clothing, feverishly tearing  
off one item after another. Walter collapsed on top of him. Both men moaned  
when their groins met.

Walter rocked his hips slowly, experimentally, his mouth fastened firmly  
to the agent's throat. The man was emitting the most amazing sounds, somewhere  
between entreaty and accusation. Walter took his time undressing him, pausing  
at each new exposure to stroke and to tease. Once Mulder's chest was completely  
revealed, Walter settled on a new assault. He began at the younger man's  
neck, kissing his was down to his nipples, lingering there. He bit him  
gently. Mulder arched beneath him, and he smiled to himself.

"Sensitive?"

"Just a bit," he gasped. Walter tried the other one, and Mulder's hands  
gripped his head, holding him there. Definitely sensitive. The AD nipped  
at him, licked the marks, and continued on his path until he reached the  
waistband of Mulder's slacks. The agent sighed.

"We should really take this to the bed," Walter said. Mulder's eyes  
opened into slits, his look unfocused. "Come on," Walter urged. "You ever  
have rug burn on your back?"

Mulder blinked. He stood, slowly. As soon as Walter rose to stand beside  
him, he wrapped his arms around the AD's neck and kissed him, hard.

He ran his hands along Walter's back, scraping his nails along his skin  
on the downslide. Walter moaned into his mouth, his hands fumbling over  
Mulder's belt. He slid his tongue around the shell of Mulder's ear at the  
same moment the agent began to stroke his cock. Walter bucked helplessly  
into his hands. Mulder laughed softly.

"Sensitive?"

"Bastard." He slipped Mulder's pants off his hips, only to reveal a  
pair of blue silk boxers with an orange goldfish pattern. He smirked. "I  
take it you weren't expecting to get lucky tonight."

Mulder sat on the edge of Walter's bed and pulled off his socks. "You're  
supposed to be too blinded with passion to make fun of my underwear."

"Sorry."

"Did I say anything about those Fruit Of The Looms?" He pointed disdainfully  
at Walter's pile of discarded clothing.

"You'd prefer I wore a G-string? Or something with sequins, maybe?"

"Hey, if it's good enough for Hoover--" Walter shoved him on his back  
and settled on top of him. "You're very aggressive, all of a sudden." The  
agent rocked his hips, his erection colliding with Walter's. The AD kissed  
him hotly, and they began a gentle rhythm, tongues and hips thrusting in  
tandem.

"How do you want to do this?" Walter rasped.

Mulder gave him a loopy grin. "Any way you want. I can't argue."

"This is a historic moment."

"Everybody's a comedian."

Walter sat up and reached across to his nightstand. He fumbled around  
a bit and finally came up with what he was looking for. He squirted some  
of the lubricant into his hands and warmed it up.

"Is that Astroglide?"

"Yeah. Why?" He parted Mulder's ass cheeks and tested his opening. Mulder  
was very tight. He stifled a groan.

"I've always thought it sounded like something from _Star Trek_."

Walter slid a finger inside the younger man. The agent arched his back,  
moaning softly. Walter was mesmerized by the expression on his face. He  
added a second finger, sliding them in and out, very slowly. "Must have  
been an out-take," he murmured.

"Ohh... what?"

"_Star Trek_," he said. He began stroking Mulder's cock with his  
free hand. "Kirk and Sulu, maybe."

"Please," the agent moaned.

"What? Kirk and Chekhov?"

"_No_. Oh God..."

Walter took his hand away. He bent over the younger man and took his  
cock into his mouth. Mulder let out an agonized moan. "_Don't_. Oh  
God, I can't, _please_..." Walter released him. He collapsed into  
the mattress. The AD knelt between Mulder's legs and pulled them over his  
shoulders.

"Wait," Mulder said.

"What?"

"Maybe we shouldn't."

"_What?_"

"Just kidding."

He gave Mulder an incredulous look. "You're out to drive me crazy any  
way you can, aren't you?"

Mulder wriggled his hips by way of reply, his ass bumping against Walter's  
cock. The AD pushed inside him slowly, savoring that first moment, his  
senses rioting. Sunk all the way inside, it took everything he had not  
to just thrust mindlessly, heedless of the pleasure of the man before him.

And he wanted Mulder's pleasure almost as much as his own.

"Okay?"

"That's... not the word I would have chosen."

Walter grinned and began to move inside his agent, slowly picking up  
speed until he and Mulder had hit upon a good rhythm. Mulder met him thrust  
for thrust, moaning almost constantly now, alternately begging and commanding  
his boss, his hands clutching uselessly at the sheets. Walter began stroking  
Mulder's cock in time with his thrusts, moving faster now, driven by his  
pleasure. Mulder bucked against him, again and again, and it felt so good,  
he was so close... his orgasm struck him by surprise, his hips slamming  
into Mulder as he let out an ecstatic shout. Mulder came just as Walter's  
climax was ending, his entire body stiffening. For once in his life, possibly  
the only time, he didn't make a sound.  
   
   


*** *** ***

  


The following morning, Walter was in the act of straightening his tie  
when Mulder's cell phone rang. He turned just in time to see the agent  
lurch out of his bed and snatch the phone off his nightstand.

"Mulder."

Walter watched him execute a feline stretch. He looked down at his fully  
clothed body with some regret.

"I'm not sure where I am, Scully. The last thing I remember is somebody  
clubbing me over the head at the corner store. Could be an abandoned mine  
shaft. Could be the bottom of a well." The agent sat up and swung his legs  
over the side of the bed. "It's only..." he glanced at the clock. "Okay,  
it _is_ kind of late. I slept in."

Walter handed him a cup of coffee and set about trying not to appear  
to be eavesdropping.

"I'll pick you up in half an hour." Mulder folded the phone and sipped  
his coffee. "Scully has a flat," he said.

"You'll never make it in half an hour, Mulder."

"Hah! I'm king of the five-minute primp."

"That would explain some of your hairstyles."

"Jealousy. That's all I get out of you."

Walter leaned against the wall and watched Mulder scramble for his clothing.  
"It's a scientifically proven fact that men with hair loss problems have  
higher levels of testosterone." He looked pointedly at Mulder's lavishly  
covered scalp.

"It's so like you to prey on a man when he's naked and sleepy and pressed  
for time."

The AD gave him a look. "Are you still okay with this, Mulder?"

He blinked at the shift in topic, but recovered quickly, all things  
considered. He crossed the room to Walter and kissed him very persuasively.  
"More than okay. You?"

"Still fairly okay."

"Good. Then help me find my underwear. I really gotta go."

&lt;


End file.
